BREAKING: Willie Mays’ Priceless Personal Treasures Hit Auction Block in SF—Giants Legends Bid Farewell or Eternal Legacy? What Could Fetch Millions?
SAN FRANCISCO – The fog rolling off McCovey Cove carries more than just chills these days. It whispers of legacy, of a life lived in the roar of 24 All-Star Games and 660 moonshots over the right-field fence. On September 27, as the Giants chase a NL West wildcard spot at Oracle Park, the street outside will transform into a time capsule: a live auction of Willie Mays’ personal collection, his final wish etched in the Say Hey Kid’s unyielding spirit. From his 1954 World Series championship ring to MVP plaques and the Presidential Medal of Freedom, these aren’t relics – they’re lifelines, funneled through the Say Hey Foundation to lift Bay Area youth out of shadows much like the ones Mays outran on his way to Cooperstown.
Mays, who passed at 93 in June, left explicit instructions in his will: Auction it all, every glove-worn memento and framed accolade, to fuel the foundation he championed for decades. The nonprofit, co-founded with his son Michael in 2007, has poured millions into education, health and baseball programs for underserved kids in San Francisco’s Tenderloin and beyond. “Dad always said baseball gave him a chance,” Michael Mays told The Athletic in a rare sit-down last month, his voice steady amid the weight of the moment. “This is his way of paying it forward – one auction hammer at a time.” Heritage Auctions, handling the event across the street from Oracle, estimates the haul could top $20 million, with an online extension on September 28 featuring hundreds more items: signed bats, game-used caps, even childhood photos from Birmingham’s Rickwood Field, where Mays first gripped a Louisville Slugger.
The centerpiece? That 1954 ring, a gold band etched with “World Champions” from the Giants’ only New York title before the great migration west. Graded PSA 8 by authenticators, it’s projected to fetch $2 million alone – a steal compared to Babe Ruth’s 1920 World Series ring, which sold for $4.4 million in 2023. Beside it sits the 1954 NL MVP plaque, Mays’ first of two, commemorating his rookie-year miracle: 41 homers, 119 RBIs and a .345 average that turned a 21-year-old into a phenomenon. “Willie’s gear doesn’t just tell stories; it changes lives,” said Giants president and CEO Larry Baer, who flew in Mays’ family for a pre-auction tribute at the ballpark. “We’re honoring him by letting these treasures do what he did best: Inspire the next generation.”
For Giants faithful, still stinging from a 2024 season that flirted with .500 but faded in August, this auction is catharsis wrapped in controversy. Social media crackles with debate: Is dispersing Mays’ trove a noble extension of his philanthropy, or a heartbreaking scattershot of San Francisco’s soul? Purists pine for a museum wing at Oracle, where kids could touch the bat from “The Catch” – that over-the-shoulder robbery in the 1954 Series that defined Mays forever. “Put it in glass where it belongs,” one fan petitioned on X, garnering 15,000 signatures. Others applaud the intent: The foundation’s grants have funded Little League fields in Oakland and scholarships for 500 students since 2020. “Willie’s not about hoarding glory,” countered a former teammate, Monte Irvin. “He’s about handing off the torch.”
The live event, dubbed “Say Hey Legacy Day,” kicks off at 10 a.m. on Muni lot adjacent to the ballpark, with previews open to the public from dawn. Bidders – from deep-pocketed collectors to everyday Orange and Black diehards – will vie for pieces like Mays’ 1969 All-Star Game jersey ($500,000 estimate) and a 1972 glove from his final Giants campaign ($300,000). Online, rarities abound: A 1951 minor-league contract signed by Branch Rickey, or letters from Jackie Robinson urging Mays to lead the charge against racism. Every bid supports programs like “Baseball for All,” which equips girls’ teams in low-income neighborhoods, echoing Mays’ own trailblazing path as Black baseball’s brightest star post-Jackie.
Critics, including some Mays biographers, question the optics. “Willie’s estate was modest; this feels like cashing in on immortality,” one wrote in a pointed op-ed. Yet Michael’s response cuts deep: “Dad turned down millions in his playing days to stay true. This honors that – turning gold into gold for kids who need it.” As the gavel falls, expect tears amid the bids. Giants shortstop Brandon Crawford, a Mays mentee, plans to bid on a signed photo: “He taught me the game’s heart. Now, it’s beating for others.”
In a city where tech fortunes eclipse old glories, Mays’ auction reaffirms baseball’s pull – not as commerce, but communion. The Say Hey Kid didn’t chase rings; he built bridges. On September 27, as hammers strike and fortunes shift, those bridges extend from the Polo Grounds to the projects, proving legacy isn’t locked in cases. It’s lived, one empowered swing at a time. For Giants fans, it’s a bittersweet swing: Farewell to the treasures, but hello to the hope they fund. Willie would approve – with that trademark grin, cap tipped just so.
Leave a Reply